


Be'shearaich

by Arlome



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Fruit, Gen, Judea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: The first thing to greet him as he crawls topside is his most beloved star.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 97





	Be'shearaich

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elleflies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleflies/gifts).



> To my beloved Tarina, I hope you have the loveliest of birthdays, my friend!

The first thing to greet him as he crawls topside is his most beloved star.

The hot, unyielding Jerusalemite sun bears down upon his raven head, and he tilts his face upwards – greedy, neglected – to better surrender to its mercy.

The air smells of fresh grass and clean earth, of olive groves and figs, of milk and honey and all the rest of the boons bestowed upon this land. He likes it; juicy fruit and fertile soil, cascading hills of ripe vines and flowing wine. It’s one of his favourite places to visit, really. Shame it houses so many bloody goats.

He stretches his wings and folds them away, lest a human, passing by on his way to the Temple, chances upon him and his celestial presence. He can see the city in the distance, gleaming white and gold, shimmering in the summer heat; it’s beckoning to him, telling him to enter through its open gates – welcoming, like the heat of a pliant woman.

Speaking of women, it’s been ages since he had one. Oh, how he loves them – the daughters of Jerusalem – with their earthen locks and their beguiling eyes. He can see them in his mind’s eye, dancing in the fields, with tambourines and flutes, and dresses the colour of milk, their feet bare and light. And their flesh – oh, their flesh – so soft and warm and flushed, ever ready for his kisses. Even the most righteous of girls is not a match for his seductive charms. He’s missed the cries of passion terribly, deep dark in the bowels of his rotten kingdom.

His eyes spy a rock-cut, stepped pool down the road leading to the city, so he shrugs off his dusty robe, and marches the rest of the way naked, unfazed by his starkness, untroubled by the fact that somebody might see him. When his body breaks the water, he sighs in content; the water is cool and relatively clean and is a balm after the unending supply of Hellish soot. 

Afterwards, he lets himself airdry, lying on a large boulder under the burning sun, the juices of a ripe fig running down his stubbled chin. He moans lasciviously at the sweet taste, greedy and lustful in his hunger for the earthen delights. Father is a cruel bastard – to create all these wonders, and let _him_ choke on brimstone and ash.

No matter, soon enough he’ll be deep in his cups and even deeper between the thighs of a plump maiden, living his vacation to the fullest. He must make most of his time here before Amenadiel comes to drag him away. Perhaps he’ll be able to grab an amphora or two of wine, to ease his passing. Surely, what’s good enough for the Temple, is good enough for him.

Yes, best get his wriggle on, he hasn’t all the time in the world, after all; not now, perhaps not ever.

The Devil raises his eyes and stares at the sun, unblinking.

“Hello, old friend,” he says and stands, “it’s been a while.”

The city shines in the distance, the green olive hills around it beckoning in their outstretched embrace.

He walks through the gates like a long-awaited lover.


End file.
